A Kingdom of Our Own

Chapter Twenty Six - Waterville

Harry underwent a dramatic recovery over the following week, both physically and mentally, until finally, he was fit enough to move in with Skandar and Dalton. He still had dreams now and then, but they were by no means as disturbing or regular in occurrence as they had once been. Most importantly though (and probably the chief cause of his sudden recovery), was the fact that he no longer kept all his feelings locked up inside. Now that Hannah had won his trust and had persuaded him to tell her everything about his past, even the very darkest parts, he knew he always had someone he could go and talk to without fear of judgement.

Times certainly seemed grand and taking note of what a special occasion this was, Skandar had offered to celebrate Harry’s return to health by taking them into Waterville, provided that they promised to lay low.

“You can’t be too careful. This is a small town and not much news reaches here, but still, someone might recognise you from the papers.” Skandar said as they exited the highway and turned off down a slip road signposted “Waterville”.

The traffic was far lighter than it would have been in Portland at midday, Oregon State’s most populous city, but was still rather busy by Waterville’s standards with people rushing about in pursuit of lunch. Most had chosen to take their cars as opposed to walking, given the dismal weather conditions.

For the first time in over two months, the sky was grey and the streets were wet. Rain pitter-pattered lightly on the windshield of Skandar’s Pontiac and was swept aside in an instant by the wipers, only to be replaced by more rain. Dalton and Harry were slouched in the back of the car; both wearing coats that were zipped up fully. The seats were made of shiny cream leather, but the floor was dirty, with clumps of mud that had dropped from the soles of their dirty work boots.

The radio was tuned into some local station specialising in rock music, which boomed out a song by “The Who” as they darted through the traffic and headed downtown. Skandar liked to drive fast, which was fine by Harry and Dalton. He was a cool guardian, not boring and cautious like most adults were, but not so reckless that they felt uneasy either.

Just a few short minutes later, they reached the centre of town and pulled into the parking lot of a small diner named “Kirby’s” which Skandar immediately explained was his favourite place in town to relax and grab a bite to eat. “The burgers here are to die for and the Sundaes are almost as good as the ones from Baskin-Robbins.”

It was a traditional 1950’s styled Diner that had a warm, family sort of feel about it – the sort of place that would let you sit in there all day as long as you ordered a couple of coffees. At the end of the day, custom meant a great deal to the owner. The town had no more than 1,000 permanent residents and so besides from the occasional travellers passing through Waterville, everyone else who went there were regulars who knew one and other by name, if not personally.

Skandar recommended they try the chocolate malts, so they both asked for one, as they took their places in a booth and Skandar went over to the counter to place their orders. Dalton had been careful in ensuring that he picked a shadowy spot in the corner, taking note of the promise he’d made to his Godfather earlier that morning. He knew he was right to be cautious. There was no such thing as being “too careful”. Just the slightest hint of suspicion was all it would take to bring everything they’d worked so hard towards crashing down, their little adventure over, just like that.

Harry glanced out of the window, at the light traffic passing along the high street and then turned to examine the table. It was still greasy from its previous occupants, with a half-eaten platter of fries and a copy of the Seattle Times left abandoned on its surface next to a laminated menu. As soon as he saw the paper, he reached out for it and looked over the front page for a moment, which was titled in bold, “Beatles manager Brian Epstein found dead at his London home” and then carried on skimming through articles until he reached page seven.